


Spiritual Warfare

by Luthienberen



Series: Inspector Gregson!Witch [7]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, POV Multiple, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 13:08:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20817794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: Now ghosts yet to cross over, Watson, Holmes and Lestrade seek to put an end to a group of demon worshippers (their murderers) with a dramatic flair. They are aided in their endeavours by Inspector Gregson and his lady friend, one Miss Forest.





	Spiritual Warfare

**Author's Note:**

> **A.N.: ** Written for watsons_woes [dreamwidth] monthly prompt “strong spirits”. 
> 
> This is a sequel to my fic “Lessons in How To Be Truly Terrifying Spirits” where Watson, Holmes and Lestrade were all spirits after being murdered by a bunch of demon worshippers (your average case naturally). If you wish to read LiHTBTTS, you find the story: | **[On A03](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19860661)** | **[My Journal (Dreamwidth)](https://luthienberen.dreamwidth.org/153544.html)**
> 
> **Extra tags:** Occult references (non-descriptive), reference to past major character deaths.
> 
> *~*~*~*~*

Inspector Gregson was weary, the type of weariness which was felt in every muscle with every bone throbbing with the terrible ache. Such exhaustion was not unknown to a policeman, but compounded with the searing loss of Lestrade, Holmes and Watson it was nigh unbearable.

The manner of their deaths had been gruesome and the ritualistic display of their bodies (fortunately in death and not in life), had been depraved. Gregson was grim. He had sought and found those twisted black magic worshippers responsible for their deaths and others. Now he would destroy them utterly.  


The police system was unprepared for such malcontents so it was up to him and his associates, willing to risk their lives in the endeavour, to put a stop to this coven.

Rising from his chair, Gregson stretched, grimacing at the crick of his spine. Slowly he walked around his small office to loosen his exhausted muscles and to stir his mind to alertness. His office was clean and organised, not a paper out of position - a strong contrast to Mr Holmes’ lodgings or his former colleague Lestrade.

Pausing by his window Gregson yearned to open it to feel, if not the fresh London air, at least the non-stuffy office air of a London night, cold and crisp. Still, it would be foolish. He did not think the demon worshippers suspected him, but it would be unwise to waste his precautions.

On the glass window, for his vision only and those so inclined, were sigils denoting wards against evil. A line of salt would be too obvious and lead to questions so Gregson had settled for rubbing salt into the very woodwork and the doorjamb. Sweet fragrant incense suffused his office, granting it not only a pleasant aroma and taking the edge off of the stuffy atmosphere, but a spiritual protection: cleansing the space whilst also lifting the spirits.

Thank goodness for his Uncle’s friendship with a Catholic priest. It lessened the questions as to  _ why _ Gregson had the perfume of incense in the air. The fact he had burnt the incense as an offering was a fact he would keep silent on.

Gregson briefly rested his forehead on the warded glass and breathed deep. The incense tickled his throat, yet cleared his mind a little and brought comfort. Yet a sudden breeze where there should be none had him jerking his head up.

Forcing his breathing to remain steady, Gregson stood still, not turning quite yet. The door had not opened - he would have heard it. His skin prickled as abruptly the temperature in the room dropped.  


_ Cold.  
_

Gregson curled his fingers into his palm and resisted a shudder. He was aware of a smell of tobacco reminiscent of Mr Holmes’ brand, of the rasp and wet odour of an oilskin policeman’s coat after rainfall, and the astringent taint of carbolic acid used to ward off infections.

Hope leapt in his breast.  


“Do I have the pleasure of the company of Mr Holmes, Inspector Lestrade and Doctor Watson?”

Turning, Gregson grinned when he saw the shocked impressions on the rather translucent forms of the three men he had mentioned. Mr Holmes looked rather miffed followed quickly by that eager impression of a fox who had discovered a new mystery to find a cunning solution for, while his former colleague was spluttering in shock. The good doctor merely blinked, sighed as if understanding something at last. The former Dr Watson floated forward and spoke.

*~*~*~*~*

Doctor Watson had discovered that unlife left him with few surprises. Oh, he was certain that once they had crossed over properly and completed any paperwork the Afterlife required, that Holmes would uncover sufficient adventure so that the wonders and horrors of Earth would fill their eternity. Watson rather looked forward to more adventure, though hopefully spaced by leisurely days. Perhaps visiting the depths of the oceans or seeking the stars.

So with all that behind and before him, the revelation that Inspector Gregson was not an ordinary chap was hardly shocking.

_ Of course, _ Inspector Gregson could see them.  


Also, unlike Holmes who held a poor opinion of the police, beyond a few favourites (admittedly Lestrade, Gregson and Bradstreet were among this select group), Watson actually spent time with said favourites.

Something about Gregson always seemed “off”, as if the man held a secret. Fearing a preference of a nature where comfort was sought in the arms of Gregson’s fellows, Watson had not mentioned his concerns to Holmes. Not that Holmes would mind, but more to minimise attention.

Really, he ought to have known better. As Holmes always said, it was detrimental to theroise without all the facts and there he had gone and done so.

Witchcraft honestly. Yet what could a man - a spirit - expect? Gregson had those enchanting yellow and turquoise sigils glowing on his window for goodness sake.

Not your run of the mill policeman.

Taking advantage of Holmes' startlement, Watson decided to move matters along.

“Hello Gregson, it is good to see you alive and...when was the last time you slept and had a proper meal?” Watson frowned as his eyes filtered through all the activity of his mind - free and unfettered in death.

Gregson bit his lip to stop his laughter.  


“Ever the doctor in life and death Dr Watson. As for my health...ever since your premature deaths we have worked long hours to bring the culprits to justice.”

Lestrade managed to speak, the fog he had learnt to conjure now coalescing around him in agitation.

“How can you see us? Surely that is the question?”

“Indeed,” remarked Holmes, “that is the question.”

Gregson glanced at him with an amused smile. “I think the good doctor suspects.”

Watson nodded and raised a ghostly eyebrow at his pouting detective. “It is quite simple my dear Holmes. Witchcraft.”

“But,” spluttered Lestrade, “that is illegal! Please tell me you are circumspect at least.”

“I am very cautious Lestrade, and I thank you for your concern. I always felt you wouldn’t be so sympathetic - perhaps I was unjust in my assessment.”

The fog thickened about Lestrade, doing the job of a blush, for in death Lestrade no longer had the blood to do so. “Death has opened my eyes Gregson. My apologies.”

Gregson shrugged. “None needed my good man. Now, I assume you haven’t crossed over because of this demon worshipper business?”  


Watson nodded along with his companions.

“Excellent. Then I have good news. A...friend of mine has tracked them down and tonight we intend to go and finish this affair. The police cannot handle a coven of demon worshippers without serious casualties so my plan was to go with a few companions and render them obsolete. I am only sorry I did not reach them in time before they caught you.”

Watson reach out and watched sadly as his hand passed through Gregson’s shoulder. Yet, Gregson smiled past the brightness in his eyes.

“Do not blame yourself Gregson. You are not to blame for the actions of these evil fiends and regrettably, if you had approached us in life we most likely would not have heeded your concerns. Holmes?”

“Watson is as perceptive as ever - don’t look at me like that Watson. I am well aware of how you diminish your talents in those silly Strand stories.”

Watson grinned at his friend’s temper, while rejoicing at his matter of fact approach with Gregson. Blunt yet reassuring.

"Where was I? Oh yes, Watson is correct. I would have dismissed any real magic as trickery - deceptions of a sly and malevolent group. Becoming a spirit has taught me another  _ Norbury _ as Watson would attest."

"My dear fellow," murmured Watson affectionately, smiling at the flash of fondness and pleasure his friend derived from Watson's approvals.  


He saw the bemused glances between Gregson and Lestrade before Holmes refocused on Gregson who smiled tiredly, but inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Now that is dealt with, what is your plan?" asked Holmes authoritatively.

Watson sighed and intervened so the peace could be kept.

"Holmes, do be a good ghost and allow Gregson to sit and eat. He may tell us his plans once he is revitalised."

Noticing the protest forming Watson glared at Gregson who rolled his eyes but sank into his chair obediently.  


"Very well doctor. I will call for some supper while we await my companion. She is a fine lady, a spiritualist-"

The blond raised an eyebrow at Holmes' splutter. Lestrade sniggered, the fog dissipating to a thin scraggly yellow-green mist as he floated to sit opposite his former rival and colleague.

"Mr Holmes, I think we can grant that Spiritualism is not all hokey."

"Well, there are fakes as in any religion or spiritual path, but my friend is a true psychic."

"In London?" queried Lestrade.

Watson took the opportunity to drift to the door and  _ focus. He conjured the memory of Gregson. His soul resounded with the warmth and goodness of Gregson's soul, he vibrated with the echo of the man's living voice: a deep timbre as an ancient oak might sound if it spoke aloud. _

_ Holding these images and sensations Watson put forward his strength and impressed upon the material world his will. _

"Sergeant Wilkins! Please nip out for a steak pie from the baker - an apple too. Constable Clarke! Tea and plenty of it. Knock when you arrive and do not enter until I say so. I must not be disturbed. Thank you."

"Sir!" Two voices responded in perfect unity.

Turning, Watson saw the awed expressions as well as the proud one borne by Holmes.

"Isn't Watson remarkable?"  


Gregson's lips twitched at the excited happiness in the detective's demeanor. Watson was ridiculously pleased at Holmes' delight in his success.

"Since my victuals are arranged allow me to convey my plans."

Drawing closer, Watson settled next to Holmes who was beside Lestrade. Leaning back in his chair, the light of the gas lamps reflected in his green eyes, Gregson looked fey and Watson shivered at the confined energy the man possessed.

It was positive energy: kindness and compassion all woven together with an implacable will that conveyed the strength of Gregson's character. Like the sea the man had hidden depths and powers and as he began to talk, the incense and dim lighting all transformed those green eyes into the shining waves of the placid sea just ere the mighty storm broke.

*~*~*~*~*

Gregson had just taken the last sip of his tea while chasing a crumb of pastry left in the paper wrapping when there was a knock on his door.

Watson was impressed by how swiftly Gregson moved. In a flash the Inspector crossed to the door on silent feet. Clutched in his hand was a pouch of pungent herbs - probably protective in nature Watson deduced. He could feel the calm clean aura from the pouch, reserved like a quiet sea but with the promise of hidden power.

"Yes?" said Gregson in his normal tenor, no sign of distress.

"Miss Forest has arrived," replied Sergeant Wilkins, "I bought her directly to you as requested Sir."

Tension seeped from Gregson's frame and Watson saw him tuck the pouch into waistcoat pocket. Doing up his jacket so he was respectable Gregson gestured for them to remain and opened the door.

"Thank you Wilkins, we shan't be long. I will escort Miss Forest to her carriage."

"Yes sir."

Watson caught the puzzlement in Wilkins' voice. The man had always been perceptive. Yet Gregson remained steady and merely allowed his visitor to enter.

A lady of a stately nature entered. She didn't even blink upon sighting the three ghosts. Indeed, only a piercing assessing look was granted by the lady - in her late thirties Watson estimated - before sat in the chair hastily vacated by Lestrade who once more had fog curling around him like cats wishing to be petted.

Gregson exchanged a few words with Wilkins then shut the door and walked to his desk. He did not sit but lent one hip on the edge. His smile was wide though the warmth in his eyes was darkened with another emotion Watson couldn't quite identify.

"Gentelmen, allow me to introduce Miss Victoria Violet Forest. Miss Forest is a friend of mine for a number of years. We met when we were both attempting to surreptitiously hunt down a werewolf a decade ago in Wales. She is an accomplished and genuine medium and well, an explorer of the ancient myths and legends of the British Isles."

"A witch like you?" queried Lestrade.  


Holmes leaned forward, his fingers steepled as he gazed at Miss Forest with quiet intensity.

"Hardly!" laughed Miss Forest, "I have always had the gift of seeing spirits and beings from our legends such as elves and fairies. I learnt young to conceal my talents apart from those who were the same, such as my aunt, or sympathetic like our local blacksmith."

Gregson nodded in agreement.

"You glow," stated Holmes. "Yes Miss Forest you are a lady of remarkable character. It shall be interesting to work together."

Relieved that Holmes wasn't put out by Gregson's plan and their new acquaintance, Watson rose and bowed slightly to Miss Forest.

On cue Gregson finished his introductions.

"These gentlemen are my erstwhile colleagues in life: Inspector Lestrade. The famous detective Mr Holmes and his invaluable chronicler and friend Dr Watson."

Miss Forest inclined her head at each of them in turn, her dark eyes burning with delight.

"We have a formidable party then Gregson! I expect you are still fine tuning your powers?"

"We have made impressive progress," sniffed Holmes. Then he floated about as excitement and anticipation burst forth. “The skies shall answer my call and my Watson can summon the beasts while Lestrade can conjure up an eerie fog resplendent with the screams of banshees."

Holmes' fine fingers drew out his spiritual pouch of tobacco, eyes meeting Watson fondly. Watson felt the jolt of energy as Holmes' bright soul pressed against him. They had discovered that the touching of their essences, in fact, their souls, was a true exchange of understanding and an opportunity to relish the closeness of their friendship.

So Watson brushed back at Holmes, grinning at Holmes' quick nervous movements as he became nearly overwhelmed by sensation.

Their stalwart Gregson fortunately steered them once more to harbour.

"Now that introductions are over and we have established your powers, shall we proceed? They are in Whitechapel tonight while tomorrow they'll be out of reach in a private club for the wealthy. We must catch them tonight so their foul deeds cannot persist and afflict more innocents. I would wait for the others, but my instincts say we must move now."

Miss Forest stood in a sweep of elegant dark purple skirts, checking her indigo hat was in position and dark veil lowered.

"Oh let me," said Lestrade and in an opaque cloud of yellow fog drifted to the door and willed it open.

"My thanks Inspector Lestrade."

Watson ushered Holmes out while Gregson picked up his bag and followed. He led them out of the station through empty dusty corridors and by a discreet back entrance.

Into a cold crisp night they emerged and walked to a small Brougham, a two seater, whereupon Gregson assisted Miss Forest up. He climbed in while Watson settled on the top with his ghostly companions.

The tall cloaked man - a trusted retainer Watson suspected - ordered the horse to move and they were off to their dreadful destination and their duel with demon worshippers.

*~*~*~*~*

Victoria ordered her trusted Benton to halt a few yards distant from their quarry. Drawing the two seater to a quiet halt, Benton descended to assist her out. Gregson alighted with his usual quick yet quite manner.

Their three ghostly companions drifted down, their eyes already gleaming silver with the promise of delivering justice to their murderers. Victoria's nose twitched at the smell of the tanneries, glad that her horse was well trained and only shifting restlessly rather than trying to leave.

No words were spoken. Benton merely resumed his position, leaning down to pet Arthur in reassurance.

Her friend led the way, his tall broad form a dark shadow for even now the lamps in the East End were still gas and not as prevalent as in the richer sections of London. Victoria breathed deep and followed, grateful for Doctor Watson's company.

Mr Holmes and Inspector Lestrade were with Gregson, both impatient to start yet understanding that to move too soon would grant the advantage to their pursuers.

The trio ahead reached a dark unmarked door set in a recees. To her sight and Gregson's the wood panelling was etched with symbols that if disturbed, would summon horrors from evil planes of existence, not to mention bewitched beasts from this world.

"Can you sense them Victoria?" whispered Gregson. His voice held a note of weariness.

Victoria closed her eyes, skin crawling at the dark emanations rolling off the door. Drawing a shield around her mind to ward off psychic attacks she cast out her mind. Through wood and brick walls she passed, seeking their targets.

Down a dark corridor and empty rooms and a staircase plunging deep. The stench of decay assailed her yet Victoria persevered. A sickly sensation of pain and despair encroached upon her very self and Victoria shuddered in mortal body and spirit.

A warm heavy hand rested on her shoulder: Gregson. Breaking boundaries but a solid presence guarding her from harm. The feeling of Gregson's spirit - hot and bright like the sun - warmed her soul and gave her strength to continue.

Breathing without lungs Victoria continued. The wooden steps ended on dank earth soaked with blood and the remnants of bodies disused after foul practices. After all this Gregson would need to excavate the area with experts and, when the police left, sanctify the very soil to bring blessings and peace for all who had suffered and died.

Grimly Victoria went on, her resolve even more tightly set. Blazing with righteous desire to balance the scales, Victoria reached a blank door devoid of symbols.  


Dread curled through her.

The souls of those beyond that door needed no final protection as they were suffused with power.  


She could  _ see _ them.  


Through stone and wood she saw the twisted coils that were the souls of the men and women in the room. Their black magic had left ruins for their souls: tattered shreds, the gaps yawning voids as impenetrable and devoid of light as the deepest mine. Anger, hate and the lust for power and the yearning to afflict pain leaked through.

Their chanting hurt her, denting her shields with the dark spiritual energy building.  _ They were invoking a demon _ .

Victoria could do no more here so she turned towards the glowing presence of Gregson and followed as swift as a raven's wing the silver path to her body. The journey home was always easier once travelled so she was back in an instant.

Gasping for breath Victoria took stock and managed to regain her composure quickly. In the blackness of the shadowed doorway Victoria couldn't see Gregson's face clearly, but his warm hand and the heat from his body was grounding.

Doctor Watson examined her with a medical man's scrutiny, only satisfied when her hands stilled. Smiling at him in acknowledgement Victoria hastily told all she had witnessed.

The three ghosts became more solid during her tale, their eyes like molten silver, and just as molten metal was poured by the blacksmith to be shaped, they streamed into the building - mere brick and mortar nothing to them.

Holmes' voice was faint like a breeze, yet clear.

"Wait here while we confound them. Gregson come when called. Miss Forest-"

"Shall wait upstairs," agreed Victoria knowing she was better suited to ensuring any trapped souls could cross once the spells were broken.

Holmes' laughter in response was grim anticipation and then they were gone.

Victoria stepped backwards as Gregson got to work on defusing the wards on the door so that they could enter. She maintained a vigil, sharp eyes seeing beyond human vision even as her mortal ones required glasses.

Scented oils enticed her being, ushering in a calm aura and a burgeoning feeling of safety and  _ goodness _ . Charcoal lit in a small portable thurible burned incense that tickled her nose while the spells Gregson incanted not only counteracted the spells on the door, but also attracted good spirits close.

One by one the traps were undone until the final one was broken by a surge of strength by her friend.

The door swung open, now simply a thing of wearied wood. Gregson gathered his things and moved in first, lighting a policeman's shuttered lamp once inside. Directing the beam towards the interior so it would not be seen outside Gregson ensured the entrance was clear.

Victoria joined him and together they listened to the chaos the trio of ghosts were unleashing.

*~*~*~*~*

They were all men of justice, even if Holmes (and thereby Watson) had not always seen eye to eye with the Law concerning the minor or, every now and then, the major details.

Therefore, while avenging their murders was a relishing prospect, it would be even more satisfying to prevent further sadistic rituals and sacrifices. Watson halted before the plain door Miss Forest had described.  


Inside he could hear the chant, on the precipice of finishing for the air was thick with a malevolence both human and something more than human...something not of this world but of a dark other void, from which many evil creatures lurked, waiting for mortal flesh to summon them and in a few instances, cloak them.

It was good they had not waited and proceeded ahead as Gregson had insisted.

Out the corner of his eye he glimpsed the flicker of other spirits: trapped and unable to fully materialise or to pass through the veil.

A surge of pity and cold rage filled him and Watson felt himself ripple. Glancing at his hands he realised they were no longer transparent. His blunt nails and calloused fingers - from years as a doctor and from following Holmes with a revolver - glared up at him.

He looked at his companions and saw the same. Lestrade, full of vigour yet half obscured by his fog, looked almost alive...almost...if a pearly white sheen to his form was considered normal.

Holmes, his dear beloved Holmes, was tall and straight. His grey-green eyes were now molten silver, his fine long fingers dancing in delight as they traced complex patterns in the air. Holmes' thin supple frame weaved to a music only he could hear.

Static began gathering in the air and Watson grinned. Lestrade fell into his summoning of more fog and the cries of fearful creatures.

Watson dove through the door as Holmes sent billowing black clouds into it, announcing a torrent of rain with a ground shaking clap of thunder. Inside the thirteen strong coven cried out in shock. Their spell wavered.

Watson saw the twisting mass in the circle drawn up. Understanding that a failed incantation could be perilous if the demon came loose bereft on any bindings, Watson called his phantom beasts.

Massive wolves and bears leapt into existence scattering the men and women. One woman raised her hands to dispel the wolf pursuing her and a man tried to banish a brown bear as it swiped a gigantic paw.

Both wolf and bear were undeterred by their arts and so terrified, soaked and ears full of of Thor's rage they turned to run after their companions.

They met the same fate: lost in a fog as thick as any pea souper and just as foul. Human and inhuman screams echoed within the writhing mass. Holmes laughed and danced on the edge, playing a ghostly volin. The tune matched the weather: a crescendo of lightning and thunder, the rush of rain or the gush of a terrible wind which did not dispel Lestrade's fog, but rather aided in the confusion.

They would hold them in this prison until they dropped from exhaustion and Gregson could bind them. In the meantime, Watson held the demon at bay, calling for Gregson with a part of himself.

Miss Forest must have heard his cry for shortly their resident witch appeared and passed the debacle outside the room with little trouble. Holmes ceased the storm in the room at Gregson's arrival.

Expression grim, Gregson nodded at him. He dropped his bag and drew forth a number of implements. First he cleaned the remnant of the circle and sigils for Watson's power currently held the demon at bay. Fortunately, Holmes storm had washed away much of the filth and markings.

Yet the buildup of energy was intense and had to either be released or banished. To be unleashed would be devastating.

So Gregson worked quickly to place his own marks and wards. Purifying incense, frankincense, soon filled the room. Watsom sighed at its restorative effect, his soul vibrating on a level that was entirely spiritual.

Then Gregson drew a wand and planted his feet firmly, his expression resolute and hands steady. He began a spell to bind the demon and send it back - a banishing with no room for error or trickery. Gregson's will was implacable, as was his strength.

Even so, he strived long and hard to reverse the harm done. Watson fought alongside him. He set forth his own essence and drove back the writhing mass that would occasionally form a shape that struck horror in Watson.

Alternately the room would become freezing and infernally hot as they worked, with moans pulled from a place Watson desired to never visit. Gregson never faltered even as his brow grew wet with sweat and his body shivered from the cold or shook from tiredness and whatever fear the man endured.

At last, however, the long battle drew to an end and they were successful. The demon departed in an inward rush of air. A hush fell over the room as Gregson sank exhausted to the ground. Kneeling, he breathed heavily as Watson bent over him in concern.

Eventually Gregson met his fretful gaze with a tired smile. His green eyes were dark with fatigue, the red flush fading and leaving a pallid shade to the man's skin.

"I will be fine Doctor Watson. Let me gather my belongings. I will bind our prisoners with magic. My uncle will be here shortly with friends. Sergeant Wilkins and Constable Clarke will arrive here in the morning and collect them when they are no longer a threat.

Gregson actually touched him. Watson shivered at the touch, awe causing his form to ripple again. How had Gregson managed to touch him? Gregson spoke before he could inquire.

"Go my friend. Go and wait with your Holmes and my former colleague. Miss Forest will begin helping any trapped spirits to cross, while I will help my uncle and friends to bind the coven with enchantments and commence an initial cleansing of this foul abode. Then you three may cross and begin your adventures anew."

Watson could not speak, only nod. He watched as Gregson did as he said and then followed him out to await his companions.

A long night lay ahead, but Watson was finally hopeful of finding peace. Their murderers were brought to heel and would shortly face trial - until then Gregson and co. would prevent them from escaping justice.

Watson decided to stay until at least Gregson and Miss Forest, plus Benton and Arthur were safe.

*~*~*~*~*

Gregson had scrubbed his body until his skin felt raw. Only then did he spare some soothing cream into his joints, particularly his wrists.

Oily fingers raked through his hair to remove the memory of the smell in that dank hole. A few drops of Eau de Cologne were refreshing and soothing.

After all that he walked to his bed and donned his cotton nightshirt. Slipping under the layers he pulled the thick comforting wool and silk, (the latter from his excellent friend Miss Forest), and did his best to clear his mind of the night.

The scent of dried lavender filled his nose causing Gregson to sigh happily. Gradually his muscles relaxed more, his soul resting from the hurts he had witnessed and endured.

As sleep pulled him out into a sea of peaceful dreams Gregson could have sworn he heard the whispers of his companions.

_ "Until next time Gregson. We must discuss this witch business, so do have all the facts to hand." _

_ "Holmes! Apologies Gregson. Please, do heed my instructions on your welfare. I shall be checking!" _

_ "You glow like a lamp and burn like the sun Gregson, Miss Forest is right. Sneaky witch. Stay out of trouble and if not, call. Always happy to assist on a case or haunt your enemies. I will be around." _

_ "Ghostly private detectives? Ghosts At Your Service? Medley of Ghosts? Spirits Save Us? Spirits Unbound?" _

_ "Grab him Holmes!" _

_ "Come on Watson! The Game is afoot!" _

Gregson mumbled into his pillow and smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> 1.] Yes I continued the tradition of the name of "Violet" in my Holmesian work.
> 
> 2.] Gregson here is a witch, which is a little nod to my [Inspector Gregson!Witch](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1377490) alternate universe. However, this is an AU of that AU where Holmes & Watson never found that fact out in life. Sorry for any confusion caused! I suppose this is also a tad self-indulgent, but why not with fanfic?
> 
> 3.] Carriage information. I found this website which lists the different types of carriages in use during the Victorian era: http://www.arnkarnk.plus.com/glossary.htm 
> 
> 4.] Sergeant Wilkins is borrowed from [Sherlock Holmes TV Series (1954)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sherlock_Holmes_\(1954_TV_series\)).  
Constable Clarke is borrowed from the [Ritchie films [JudeLaw & RobertDowneyJr.]](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sherlock_Holmes_\(2009_film\)).
> 
> 5.] Witchcraft Laws passed in the UK: https://www.parliament.uk/about/living-heritage/transformingsociety/private-lives/religion/overview/witchcraft/


End file.
